


Peggy the Excuse

by punahukka



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Drunken Confessions, Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Games, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punahukka/pseuds/punahukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Charles seemed to have the time of his life until his doomed-to-fail attempt of seducing Peggy. She wasn’t interested in mutations.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Peggy the Excuse

**Author's Note:**

> Playing with Marvel's toys.

She told them her name was Peggy. 

Erik is amazed at Charles’ ability to fall in love within seconds, and end up with his heart broken just as fast. Erik is not sure if he finds it amusing or nerve-wrecking.

It’s a crummy hotel room with neon lights whispering their promises through the half-closed curtains. There’s a bar downstairs with reasonable prices (as if drinking ever was a question of money) and strangely appealing atmosphere of mixed classes, races, ages and sexual preferences. Mixed feelings and intentions. Mixed hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, lovers and liars. Promises and back-stabbing. Music, drinks, drugs. Sex, naturally. The stench wrapping it all up is _human_. 

Charles seemed to have the time of his life until his doomed-to-fail attempt of seducing Peggy. She wasn’t interested in mutations. 

“She was so beautiful.” 

If Erik deemed faked dangerous as beautiful, then yes, he’d had to admit Peggy was just that. Tall, pale, slender form with a bob haircut in bluish black, lips red as the blood of the innocent, long lashes just about as real as the size of her breasts, clad in a short, yellow dress to reveal a neck any swan would envy and long legs any man would have wrapped around his hips. 

“Not my type.” The smile isn’t meant to be mocking (honestly), but it makes Charles shot a deeply hurt glance at his direction. The telepath is lying on his bed, fully clothed, in the merciful state of drunkenness in which he’s not aware of the headache he’ll be nurturing the next day. 

“Then what is?”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Erik takes his time to untie his shoes and adjust them beside his own bed (the one closer to the door). “I have my soft spot for hookers. I just don’t appreciate the… _Peggy_ _type_ that slips funny chemicals in your drink and tries to walk out with your wallet.” He’s not sure why he’s poking the sore spot. Maybe because he still hasn’t decided if he’s amused. Or pissed off. 

Charles opens his mouth, but doesn’t get started. While he’s pouting, Erik uses the tiny bathroom, brushes his teeth, strips to his underwear and folds his clothes before sliding under the covers. The light on the nightstand goes out with a faint click. Neon blue gives the room an eerie look. 

“I just didn’t feel like sleeping alone tonight.” It’s such a small voice it takes Erik a moment to realise Charles has said it out loud and not in his head. When wasted, the telepath can’t always make the effort to stay out of there. He watches as Charles kicks of his shoes and tosses most of his clothing to the same direction. 

Mixed feelings; that’s what Charles is broadcasting. That’s what makes Erik swallow a _don’t bitch about it_ and let out a _hmph_. He yawns. Maybe the alcohol is finally kicking in on him, too. “You are aware of that you still don’t have to?” His thoughts are more straightforward and he knows Charles is listening. _Just get back there and go for it, as I remember there was a hoard of damsels to court._

Charles makes a strange noise, meant to represent laughter. _Maybe they weren’t my type._

Erik is not in the mood for this game, so he doesn’t ask what _is_ his type, then. The game has been going on for a while, and the rules are rather simple: circle around the subject but do not touch it. He’s sure Peggy would have been good at it: desperately seeking something real and ready to bite anyone’s head off if they dare to get too close. Lost in a thought he forgets to form a witty answer altogether, and Charles clearly isn’t done playing. 

_  
Can I sleep with you?   
_

It’s a nameless hotel room in a nameless city with its nameless people, and Erik knows Charles is the only real thing he’s going to find there. When they leave the hotel, no one will remember what they looked like; they’ll be only the two gentlemen paying in cash. And the day after tomorrow, not even that. 

_  
Yes, you can.    
_

He turns his back, and the metal bed creaks miserably as he tries to stretch it a little wider without it falling apart. Charles climbs in with a loud rustling of sheets. They’re quiet for a while, and Erik wonders if he really could fall asleep like this. And if the telepath would have used his little mind tricks on Peggy had they been the ones to sleep together. 

Then Charles’ lips brush his neck, and he knows deep down that he’s happy they aren’t. 

_  
Can I?   
_   
Charles’ hand slides on his waist, and when there’s no objection, to his stomach. He places a kiss on Erik’s shoulder, and his breath feels hot and heavy against his skin. His body radiates warmth, presses against his back. Erik is not sure if Peggy is in the bed with them, but he doesn’t care. _Yes, you can_ , and he’s already hard when Charles’ fingers find their way into his pants. 

It’s far from a perfect fuck, but it’s something worth working on. It’s Charles who comes first, spread and tangled on top of Erik, thoughts a pulsing mess of _ohgodfuckyes_ ; it doesn’t take Erik long to follow, with Charles’ shaking hand and surprisingly skilful tongue. It’s as real as sex ever gets with more than one person involved. It’s actually more amusing than annoying when Charles starts snoring. 

It’s Charles who wakes up first, with his head too heavy to lift from the pillow and his mind blurry. He’s trapped in place with Erik’s possessive hand around him. He feels like a slut, but an utterly satisfied one, and the mixture of sweat and semen is the finest perfume he could think of. 

Her real name wasn’t Peggy, and she was in fact a very sweet girl with pure intentions of flirting with a couple of handsome strangers and maybe getting a free drink or two. But the fleeting moment she pictured herself kissing the taller stranger, well, that was too much for Charles at the time. Maybe making her believe she was a cocky whore not into academics or Nazi-hunters was a bit too much, though. 

When Erik hisses something in German in his sleep, Charles makes peace with himself and snuggles closer to the other man. A nameless room in a nameless hotel in a nameless city. Mixed feelings and intentions. Mixed hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, lovers and liars.


End file.
